“Then I’ll show you mighty quick you’re wrong,” he cried, as a crowning bluff. “He’s probably some spy sent by your aunt. I’ll get my man in here and will have him arrested after you and I have gone. Wait here––I shan’t be a moment.”
As the door slammed after him Helen ran to the window and then back to the door. She was now terribly alarmed on another score. She feared to go out and she feared to remain in the house. She feared physically––feared violence.
Travers Gladwin had found the bowie knife and slipped it into his trousers pocket. Then he had gone down the stairs on the run. As he entered the room and saw that the man had gone he said:
“Is he running away––and without his pictures or his hat and coat. What’s his game, I wonder.”
“He’s coming back––he says my aunt sent you here,” said Helen, but less afraid at his return to the room.
“Never mind what he says,” Gladwin returned, gesturing excitedly. “You must go home––now. To-morrow you can learn the truth.”
“But if I go out he’ll be sure to see me,” she protested.
Gladwin looked about him and thought a moment.
“Do you see that little alcove back of the stairs,” he said quickly, pointing. Helen crossed the room and nodded.